


Father

by lesbians



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - No Sburb Session, Child Abuse, Major character death - Freeform, Other, this isn’t a vent fic or anything i just hate bro strider with every fiber of my being
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-11
Updated: 2018-11-11
Packaged: 2019-08-21 21:28:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16584521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lesbians/pseuds/lesbians
Summary: When Dave Strider was seven years old, he won his first fight against his older brother.(Please read author’s note for tws)





	Father

**Author's Note:**

> BIG OL TW: child abuse, major character death, and mourning for a bad dude. basically bro is a tereible person as per usual. this is mostly just sad i have a lot of feelings abt dave moving on from his less than ideal childhood

When Dave Strider was seven years old, he won his first fight against his older brother. There was no sense of victory for the situation, no pride or even surprise from Bro.

“Dave,” he said. “Come here.”

After a strife. It was late afternoon. The sun was setting over the city buildings. His neck was slick with sweat from the heat and exercise.

“Bend your arm,” he said, demonstrating. Dave obliged. “Okay, good. Now put it against mine. Don’t move it.”

The contact of forearm against forearm was, possibly, the most physical affection he’d ever gotten from Bro. The man pulled out a pack of cigarettes. Dave could already smell the nicotine from the box. He was certain that when he was older, the smell of home would be the smell of an unlit Marlboro. Bro took his Bic and lit one.

“I have a game,” he said, taking a short puff and blowing the smoke in Dave’s place. “Still don’t move.” He dropped the lit cigarette between their arms, so that the burning end was pressing into their skin. 

“Ouch,” Dave whispered. Bro grinned down at him. 

“Whoever pulls away first loses.”

The cigarette had landed on one of Dave’s scars, the thick skin making him more tolerant to the pain. On Bro, however, it had landed on a fresh tattoo, one that was peeling. He didn’t falter when Dave clenched his fist, determined to wait it out. He just kept grinning.

Three minutes later, all that was left was a straight line of ash and a butt. Bro frowned, pulling away without realizing what he was doing and stormed off. Dave didn’t dare smile, didn’t dare rub at his sore, burnt arm or acknowledge his win.

He waited it out.

Dirk cleaned his wound up later, smearing it with some sort of cold cream that soothed the ache and patching it up with a bandaid.

“I’m sorry,” he kept saying. “I should’ve been home.”

“Weren’t you studying?” Dave asked. Dirk nodded. “If you fail your test now I’m gonna be so mad.”

He smiled a little at Dirk, showing him it was okay. He didn’t smile back at him. 

“Bro has a way of making you feel like you didn’t win,” Dirk said.

“I really don’t,” Dave admitted. He sniffed his arm. “Will it always smell like cigarette smoke?”

“I don’t know,” Dirk said, sighing. “This is a new one.” 

When Bro died, everyone pitied him. Said they were sorry for his loss. That they never got to know him very well but they were “sure he was a great man!” Dave felt the scar on his arm where cigarette ash had burned him ten years ago, but nothing else. 

“Your father,” Rose says one day. “He’s the reason you’re always beat up, right?” He stiffens, and she places a caring hand on his shoulder. “The bruises started going away when he passed.” 

He shouldn’t feel grief for that asshole. Dirk didn’t. He didn’t, either. He didn’t feel anything but numb at first, actually. But that single comment has him scrubbing at his eyes and choking on sobs.

“He was so... unnecessarily mean. He... he h-hit me, and he didn’t let us eat, and he was scary, and-“

“I know,” Rose says, soothingly. “This is normal. It’s normal to mourn.” Dave shudders.

“Not over him, it’s not. I was relieved when he died.” He sniffs. “He drank himself to death, which is arguably the stupidest way to die, and yet I think it was the smartest thing he did his whole life. And I... I don’t want to miss him. He wouldn’t even let me call him ‘Dad.’”

“I’m sorry,” Rose whispers. “I have no idea how you must feel right now.” Dave laughs bitterly.

“Confused, mostly,” he admits. “The biggest threat in my life was taken away, and, yet, not only am I more on edge than ever, I... I miss him.” He shakes his head. “Well, maybe not him. But, like, what he could have been, you know?” 

“... A stable father figure?” Rose offers. Dave nods.

“Yeah. That.”

Dave and Dirk move in with Dirk’s ex-boyfriend, which is both insanely awkward and also devastating. He misses his old room and his birds and hates that Jake’s house is full of super cool souvenirs and stuff from his “adventures.” He could have SO enjoyed this if the circumstances were different.

Bro was dead, and it made things worse.

Which is dumb, of course. The same man who hardly ever fed his two kids and manipulated them into doing things like sword fighting an active forty year-old and being filmed for his creepy horror porn site was dead, and he felt BAD about it? Why?

He’s eighteen, and his grades slipped hard, so college is a no-go. 

He’s eighteen, and his brother actively avoids his housemate because confrontation involves communication (something Bro never taught them), and now that he’s not constantly at school it’s impossible to ignore and painful to watch.

He’s eighteen, and his father’s been dead for a year, and nothing has gotten better.

He’s an adult. This is the moment he’s looked forward to his entire life. Grow up, get out, never look back.

But he got out already, and now he’s stuck.

His arm burns.


End file.
